


as spring became the summer

by thelilacfield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5 Times, F/M, Flowers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: “I bought these flowers at the store and I…I thought maybe you’d like them?" She holds the bouquet out lamely, suddenly conscious of how the flowers are past their best, drooping slightly, and bites at the inside of her cheek in fear that he’ll push her away.“Oh, I…” He takes the bouquet gently from her hands, the gear in his eyes swirling at he stares at them, and she watches his throat bob as he swallows. “Thank you, Ms. Maximoff. They’re beautiful.”Over the course of being teammates to being friends to being lovers, five times Wanda gave Vision flowers.





	as spring became the summer

**A/N:** Transferring another tumblr ficlet to AO3 while I keep working on WIP updates! Hope this is enough fluff! Tumblr is [here](https://mximoffromanoff.tumblr.com/) if you want to come chat about anything fic or scarletvision related (I will always talk for hours about my future fics)

* * *

**1.**

“You wanna try any of these fancy teas?” Natasha asks, pulling Wanda out of her thoughts and into the aisle, the display of multi-coloured boxes in front of them. “We’ve got so many mugs, may as well use them to sample every flavour you can.”

“Um-” She stares up at the boxes, all the bright colours, all the choice. “Maybe...the apple?”

“I know you’re faithful to Earl Grey, but you may as well try new things on SHIELD coin,” Natasha says with a wink. “Come on. I promised Sam his precious ingredients by six so he can treat us all to mac and cheese tonight.”

Obediently following the team leader towards the checkouts, Wanda finds her eyes caught by the tier of buckets displaying flowers. Her eyes flicker over the bright, bountiful bouquets reaching out towards consumer hands, landing on a tiny bunch of white buds. There’s a yellow sticker proclaiming them on sale, and she runs her fingers over the browning at the edges of the petals. She must be become soft-hearted amongst the Avengers, but she feels a pang at the thought of leaving these flowers behind to be thrown out at the end of the day.

She takes them up to the checkout, and Natasha mercifully doesn’t ask questions. Cradles the slim bundle in its crackling cellophane as Natasha drives back to the compound, only moving to flash her face at the guard at the door, and while Natasha is calling for Sam to help her she slips away from the group. Her room is already teeming with decoration, with the photographs and the art and the old guitar Sam gave her in pride of place.

When she knocks on Vision’s door, he opens it immediately, glancing down at her. “Good evening, Ms. Maximoff,” he says, and she bites back the instinct to tell him to stop being so formal. He’ll stop in his own time. “Is there something I can do for you? Would you like assistance in the training room again?”

“No, I...” She trails off, searching for the right words to explain to him what she wants. How to make him understand when he’s still learning, has been ever since they moved into the compound. “I bought these flowers at the store and I...there isn’t room for them in my room. I thought maybe you’d like them? Because your room is pretty empty except for books, and I...you should decorate.” She holds the bouquet out lamely, suddenly conscious of how the flowers are past their best, drooping slightly, and bites at the inside of her cheek in fear that he’ll push her away.

“Oh, I...” He takes the bouquet gently from her hands, the gear in his eyes swirling at he stares at them, and she watches his throat bob as he swallows. “Thank you, Ms. Maximoff. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome,” she says softly, and tries not to wonder too much over the soft golden glow diffusing in his cheeks. Only allowing herself one chance to look back as she walks towards the drawling of Sam and Rhodey arguing in the kitchen, to look at the wonder in Vision’s expression as he traces his fingertips delicately over the velvet edge of a petal.

**2.**

The room is spinning as Wanda almost falls into her chair after Steve is done twirling her energetically around the floor, fanning her flushed face with a discarded menu. Vision is still dancing with Pepper, and for a second her gaze lingers appreciatively on the cut of his suit to his shoulders before Sam’s voice breaks through the fog of champagne. “Hey...hey Wanda...Wanda!”

She glances across the table at him, sprawled with his feet in Natasha’s abandoned chair, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “I don’t wanna dance anymore,” she says, easing her aching feet out of her heels, hiding her chipped nail polish under the hem of her dress.

“I dare you to steal the centrepiece,” Sam says with a sly grin, and Wanda stares at it. The swirling flowers blooming out of the crystal vase in a vast display of extravagance, marking the Stark Industries Christmas Gala as a place of excess. Just as she’s indulged in such an excess of champagne stealing the flowers sounds like a good idea.

“Why me?” she asks, blinking at him as he slants suddenly into two. “Why not someone else?”

“Steve and Nat have been too busy showing off, and Rhodey told me I was being immature,” he says with a frown. “And you’re the drunkest and the most likely to listen to my wisdom unquestioningly.”

“Why would I steal the flowers?” she asks, propping her chin on her hand and narrowing her eyes at Sam.

“To keep a memory of this magical, wonderful night,” Sam says brightly. “You got to slow dance with your crush. You should remember it.”

“We’re not sixteen,” she snaps, willing herself not to blush. Just because she’s had a champagne glass too many doesn’t mean she’s about to turn around to just anybody and talk about her feelings for Vision. “I’m not taking the flowers.”

“But they’ll brighten up a certain red someone’s room,” he says slyly, and she can feel the flush heat the back of her neck. “Take them. Take them take them take them take them take them-”

A lash of her fingers sends a spoon flying sharply into Sam’s nose, clattering to the floor, and silencing him. But it doesn’t stop her from sneaking back into the room under the guise of having forgotten a bracelet to take the flowers, hiding them under her coat in the car ride back.

She skids on ice getting out of the car, and Vision is there to steady her, their breath rising frosted silver in the air as he guides her back up to the compound, her feet aching enough that she limps the last few steps. “You should have a glass of water before bed,” he says, and she smiles up at him, tired enough to not care how besotted she looks.

“Can I give you something?” she asks, and he nods, distracted turning his back to her to fill water glasses and butter bread. She admires the cut of his suit again before he turns around and she produces the richly-red roses from beneath her coat, holding them out to him proudly. “Merry Christmas, Vizh.”

“Where did you find those, Ms. Maximoff?” he asks, and she shakes her head fondly at his insistence on using her full name.

“I just found them,” she says sweetly. “They’re for you.” She trades the roses for a glass of water, and watches the pleasure warm his smile while she drinks.

When Tony calls in the morning to long-sufferingly ask who stole a centrepiece, she grins into her tea at Vision’s betrayed expression.

**3.**

Rain is tumbling from the swollen clouds, and Wanda ducks through the nearest open doorway, frowning in irritation at the feeling of her wet socks inside her boots. Her umbrella has at least protected her hair, but she can feel the dampness seeping into her backpack, hoping that everything within is dry enough that she won’t need to spend the night trying to dry clothes in a tiny hostel room instead of being with Vision.

“Morning!” comes a chirp, and she glances up at the bright-eyed cashier. She’s managed to duck into a florist, surrounded by petals and leaves, and the young man is beaming at her. “Are you just ducking out of the rain, or would you like to look around?”

She’s about to lamely apologise, then she looks around and changes her mind. “I’ll have a look,” she says, and he smiles.

“Flowers for anyone in particular?” he asks, so casually. She supposes she should at least be grateful that it’s a sign that her newly-dyed hair is enough to keep anyone from recognising her. “Or for yourself? No shame in treating yourself to something as lovely as flowers!”

“My boyfriend,” she says. Even though they don’t use that word. She can’t explain to a stranger than it’s her best friend who she might be falling in love with coming to visit for the first time in two months because she’s on the run and he has to sneak out to see her under the guise of official government-sanctioned missions. “He likes flowers.”

“That’s sweet, ma’am,” the cashier says, and she smiles slightly. “I’ll let you browse. You must know him best.”

When she eventually braves the downpour again for the walk to the train station, waiting by herself on the platform while a broken gutter stubbornly drips water onto her, she’s cradling flowers under her arm to keep them dry. And when she sees Vision step off the train, the familiar blonde hair and the soft grey sweater he always seems to travel in, she smiles without needing to try.

He’s across the platform and kissing her before she’s even opened her mouth to greet him, and she smiles against his lips, melting into the kiss. “I missed you,” he says softly when they part, and she smiles into his eyes and draws him into another kiss, her fingers settling in the thick hair at the back of his neck.

“I got you something,” she says, and produces the flowers from behind her back. A beautiful bouquet of yellow and white, and Vision beams, taking them as gently as he did the first time she gave him flowers.

“They’re lovely, darling,” he says, and his eyes are shining. “I got you something too.”

When he pulls a box from his pocket, there’s a heartstopping whirlwind moment when some part of her thinks he’s going to propose. But there’s a necklace inside, not a ring, the pretty vintage one she saw in a shop window during his last visit and coveted for the entire week they were together. She takes the box from him, helplessly grinning, and looks up to arch an eyebrow and say, “You just can’t help but outdo me, can you?”

“Flowers are as wonderful as jewellery,” he says, and kisses her forehead. “Every gift from you is wonderful.”

She forgets to make sure she isn’t crushing the flowers when she lifts on her tiptoes to kiss him.

**4.**

Shuri’s labs are stark white, and the doors swish open so quietly when Wanda walks through them. She doesn’t meet any of the guards’ eyes, unable to stand the sympathy they gaze at her with, and descends another level to the room with only one bed. Where Vision is sitting alone, colour restored to the grey he was when they first woke him, staring at the wall. Silent, only the rise and fall of his shoulders with his breathing to show he’s there at all.

“I’m back,” she says weakly, and he turns his head slightly to look at her. There’s still no spark of recognition in his eyes, despite the work Shuri says she’s been putting on, despite her constant trying with the incomplete back-up she had, pulling and prodding at it to draw out his memories. “How are you, Vizh?”

“I remembered something,” he says, and she glances up suddenly from arranging her bag, feeling hope blossom warm in her chest. “I remembered Edinburgh.”

“We were there,” she says encouragingly, and he shifts on the bed. She wants to sit next to him, to comfort him, but it seems impossible to touch him when he doesn’t remember her, to think of being so close without kissing him,

“We were attacked,” he says, and she nods again. “I told you to go.” He looks at her, the same eyes she remembers so well from misty early mornings in hotel rooms, and asks, “Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t leave you,” she says, and moves slightly closer. He holds a hand out to her, as if it’s muscle memory, and she links their fingers tentatively together. “Everything I do is to protect you. To make the world safe for you again. So you can choose the life you want.”

“I remember what I asked you,” he says, and she flushes slightly. “I asked you to stay with me. You never answered.”

“Circumstances didn’t let me,” she says. She eyes the windowsill, the empty vase Shuri left just as she asked, and pulls flowers from her bag to set them in the vase, a little colour in the stark room. Her back to Vision, she takes a deep breath and says, “I would’ve said yes.”

“You would?” he asks, and she turns back to him. Staring at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. And when she nods, the slightest hint of a smile flickers at the corners of his mouth. “Wanda, may I...would you object if I wanted to come with you? Walk with you when you visit?”

“I’d like that,” she says softly, and then he really does smile. When she moves back towards him, the flowers seeming to glow faintly behind her under the harsh lights, he laces their fingers together again and brushes a soft kiss over the back of her hand.

**5.**

Staring at herself in the mirror, sliding hair pins tighter into the swept-up style to hold her shimmering veil in place, Wanda smiles slowly. No one else is in the room with her, Sam having been tasked with helping Clint entertain his kids while Laura guides people to their seats. She can take this moment alone, to look at herself as a bride, to take up her bouquet and adjust her necklace against her collarbones. To look at herself one last time before she chooses to share her name with the man she loves.

Opening the door at footsteps outside, expecting a harried Sam back, she stalls and smiles when she sees Vision. He’s wearing white too, a stunning contrast against his crimson skin, a yellow tie lying perfectly smooth across his chest, and he starts violently when he sees her. “ _Wanda_ , we’re not supposed to see each other before the ceremony!” he says frantically, and she smiles, sliding out from behind her door to languidly drape an arm around his neck.

“I don’t believe in that superstition,” she says softly, and kisses him. “We couldn’t have any more bad luck, babe. I already saw you die twice.”

“I...thought you wouldn’t want me to see your dress,” he says, and she smiles at his gaze flickering over her. “You look so beautiful.”

“You look amazing,” she says, and he smiles. Pulling a single rose from her bouquet, she tucks it neatly into his buttonhole and leans up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you at the altar. I’ll be the one in white.”

“In an hour you’ll be my wife,” he says. So softly, awestuck, fingers tracing over the silken edge of the rose petals, and she beams at him, light with love.

“You’ll be my husband,” she breathes, and leans up to kiss him, feeling his fingers warm against her skin through the thin material of her dress. Moving over her waist to cradle her, and she pulls back and smirks as she says, “And if you don’t stop that I’m going to consummate the marriage before it’s official.”

He blushes, cheeks glowing gold, and she gives him one last kiss before she forces herself away. Tucking her fingers around her flowers and allowing herself one last look at him. Staring at the rose she gave him with his eyes bright. The man she’s about to promise herself to forever.

Until the stars burn out.


End file.
